


This One Thing

by Aviena



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 21:38:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3091190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviena/pseuds/Aviena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair couldn’t be expected to do everything - and he had lost count of how many times he had already put duty ahead of his own happiness. He deserved this one thing; this tiny deviation from the thankless, obedient life of a Grey Warden. He deserved to be with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This One Thing

_To my dearest Alistair,_

_I never thought I’d say this, but I’m beginning to miss the cold. The further west I go, the hotter it gets. From what I hear, though, you’ve got a similar problem. Yes, the Inquisitor told me all about your plans. Part of me wants to turn around and race to Skyhold myself, but I’ve found more success here than we ever hoped – and I suspect that you could not afford to wait for my arrival, in any case._

_Be careful, love. I know you too well to trust you to keep yourself out of harm’s way – so please, for the love of the Maker, think of me before you do anything rash._

_I could not bear to live without you._

_Because I know you are bound to wonder: yes, I hear the whispers as well. But whispers are all they are, and they grow fainter the further west I go. I do not envy you the shrieking you’re undoubtedly subjected to so close to Corypheus himself, but I do wish I could share your burden. To think of you facing such danger without me at your side…it breaks my heart._

_This letter is coming off as rather more melancholy than intended (and I’m running out of parchment!) so I’ll try to wrap things up on a cheerier note. Here goes:_

_I bought THE MOST AMAZING specialty cheese from a travelling merchant last week. I’m going to try to save some for you, but it will be a struggle. Best finish up this business with Corypheus as soon as possible – I’m not sure how long my self-control can last._

_I’ve also just realised that I almost managed to make it through an entire letter without saying the words “I love you.” So there you go – I love you. More than words can say or poets dream. I think of you every day, but I sustain myself with the knowledge that I WILL see you soon._

_Stay safe. Please._

The letter was signed with a tiny impression of a rose, as all her letters were. Alistair could even smell a hint of the flower on the parchment itself, though he knew it was probably fantasy. How would she keep roses alive in the desert? If anyone could manage it, it was his beloved – but there, he was getting all choked up again. Alistair sniffed - surreptitiously, of course - and carefully folded the missive before stowing it safely in his pack. She’d included a roughly drawn map to indicate her intended destination. Maker bless that woman.

A sweet voice from the shadow of the gatehouse distracted him from his thoughts. “A letter from your sweetheart?” The speaker was a young woman – barely more than a girl, really – garbed in the nondescript leathers of an Inquisition scout. She had rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes, and she was much too young to be making eyes at a tired old Warden like him. He was practically _grizzled_. Alistair considered telling her as much, but he settled for a weary smile instead.

“Yes, actually.”

“Oh.” The girl seemed taken aback for a moment, but she quickly recovered herself. “All happy news, judging from your smile.”

Alistair’s smile widened. “Yes. I’m going home.” A flicker of guilt tugged at him, but Hawke was a woman who had always made her own decisions. Someone had had to die in the Fade. He was glad it wasn’t him.

“Where’s home?”

“Wherever she is.”

\---

Alistair broke away from the Grey Warden column upon their departure from Val Firmin. He wished his fellows a safe journey to the Anderfels and tried to ignore the quiet chastisements of his conscience: Hawke had died so that the Wardens would have a leader. That didn’t necessarily mean _Alistair_ had to be that leader, did it? He’d seen the Wardens through the campaign against Corypheus, and they’d come out of it more or less intact. He’d shepherded them a good way west, as well.

They’d just have to make it to Weisshaupt by themselves. The Wardens could have stayed in Orlais, he supposed, but they needed a new Warden Commander and the consistency and structure that the fortress in the Anderfels could provide. Alistair couldn’t be expected to do _everything_ \- and he had lost count of how many times he had already put duty ahead of his own happiness. He deserved this one thing; this tiny deviation from the thankless, obedient life of a Grey Warden. He deserved to be with her.

He could join his fellows later, with his love at his side and a cure for the taint in his pocket.

The trek through the Western Approach was every bit as gruelling as Alistair had expected, but his earlier jaunt through the desert had taught him to be prepared. He carried his armour in his pack, rather than wearing it like an ornate oven, and he kept an eye on the horizon at all times: watching for Darkspawn, for bandits and for wildlife. It seemed a sandy, wind-chapped eternity passed before the Urthemiel Plateau was visible through the heat haze. Night had fallen by the time he reached the tiny camp set in its shadow.

She watched him approach with a trembling smile on her lips. She had tucked her hair beneath a white cotton wrap and discarded her armour in favour of light, breathable linens. A broad grin was stretching Alistair’s lips too, but he glanced away whenever her eyes met his.

 _Fancy meeting you here_ , he’d say, and she’d answer with something airy and frivolous, like _I thought you’d be taller_. Then he’d kiss her, and Maker help him –

She was running to him, headscarf trailing behind her like a banner, her feet skidding on the pale sand, and then Alistair was scooping her off her feet, wheeling her about and laughing like a fool as she squealed. As soon as her feet met the ground again, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly, her tongue crashing against his as if to make up for all the months they were apart. Alistair was ashamed to admit he had forgotten what she tasted like: something involving honey, he was sure, but at the moment she just tasted like sand.

They broke apart, spitting sand and giggling. Her grin turned Alistair’s knees to jelly. “Fancy meeting you here,” she said.

Maker, but he’d missed this woman. He pulled her close again, plastering her body against his and covering her lips with his own. His hands wandered downwards, grazing the tips of her breasts and squeezing her buttocks – and _that_ elicited one of the quiet moans that he’d been hearing in his sleep for months.

Though Alistair would never tire of kissing her lips, there was no sense in neglecting the rest of her. He trailed kisses down her jaw to the crook of her neck, then down the neckline of her pale blouse. Her skin was salty.

“What, no talking?”

Alistair smiled into her neck, squeezing her rump again, and she giggled. “Would you rather talk? I could talk for _hours_.”

Her answer was obviously intended to sound thoughtful, but the sudden husky quality to her voice ruined the effect. “Well…we can always talk afterwards. I suppose.” She rolled her hips slowly, and _Maker_ , it was Alistair’s turn to groan. Her eyes went dark, lashes lowering. “Make that sound again.”

Alistair obliged, and she swore – then she was pulling him back to her tent, tugging her shirt over her head as they went. Alistair was more than ready, but the sight of her bare skin sent lances of fire down his spine. They left a trail of discarded clothing in their wake, and a fleeting thought about scorpions raced across Alistair’s mind - but he just didn’t _care_. They were in the tent, then, collapsing onto the bedroll in a tangle of sweaty limbs, and she was asking him to _fuck her_ in the most desperate, throaty voice she possessed.

She was wet and wanting already, but Alistair had been imagining their reunion for months. He was going to make this count. He lay her out beneath him, planting kisses across her sweaty, quivering breasts, delighting in the little moans she uttered and the feel of her fingers tangling in his hair. She muttered something about wanting him _inside her_ , and Alistair’s cock jumped at the words – but he wanted her to remember this night and think of _all the times he made her come_. He wanted to blow her mind.

So he pinned her arms above her head in just the way she liked – not too rough, but not too gentle, either – and continued his ministrations, licking and teasing at her breasts, catching a nipple gently between his teeth before sucking _hard_. She moaned, arching upwards towards his mouth and flexing her hips in a desperate search for further stimulation.

“Maker,” she hissed, “I’ve missed you.”

Alistair grinned – well, smirked. “And I’ve missed you.” He paused, and trailed one hand slowly down her belly. She panted and wriggled, but Alistair noted she never really attempted to free her hands. When his fingers reached the dusting of hair between her legs, he stopped, and the Hero of Ferelden _whined_.

“Alistair-“

“Tell me what you want me to do.”

Her eyes fluttered closed. “ _Fuck me_ , of course!”

“How?”

She gave a little moan. They had played this game before, but never had she seemed quite so desperate. She took a shallow, shaky breath, rocking her hips forward and backward in an effort to break him. Maker, she was beautiful. Finally, she snapped. It was remarkable how articulate she could be when she wanted something.

“I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk,” she whispered, and it was all Alistair could do not to acquiesce immediately. “I want you to show me all the ways you’ve _dreamed_ of fucking me since we’ve been apart. I want _you_ , Alistair.”

And Alistair obliged. He buried his face between her legs, licking, sucking, thrusting, and she screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Her hands tangled in his hair, her legs went up over his shoulders, and when he slipped two fingers inside her she moaned his name like a prayer. Her first orgasm of the evening hit her like an earthquake, and he coaxed her through the pulses right into a second. After that, she pulled him upwards for a kiss, and Alistair could not fathom how he had managed to be without her.

“Allow me,” she whispered into his mouth, and before Alistair could comprehend quite how it happened she had rolled him onto his back and was running her lips along his aching cock. He hissed and squeezed his eyes shut – he didn’t want to come too quickly, but _Maker_ she was good at this. Her hand ran up and down his shaft, squeezing and twisting in the way she knew he liked. When her tongue darted over his slit, Alistair gave a rasping groan.

“Love,” he groaned, “I won’t last.”

She rested her cheek against his thigh, and Alistair chanced cracking open one eye to look at her. She was smiling like a cat in cream. She ran one long, smooth finger along the underside of his shaft, and Alistair’s eyes fluttered shut again.

“They told me Grey Wardens had stamina,” she teased, crawling up his body again to scatter warm kisses across his chest. “Or did all those women in Skyhold tire you out?”

Alistair knew she was only mocking him, but he felt the need to reassure her nonetheless. “Rather the opposite, I’m afraid.” Catching her mouth for another kiss, he rolled them both over so that he was on top again. He twined his fingers in hers and planted them beside her head, releasing his grip on her hand only to position himself at her entrance. Maker, she was wet.

“Tell me again,” he panted. Her eyes were whirlpools, sucking him down into a cradle of warmth and comfort.

“Fuck me.”

He did. He moved slowly, at first, kissing her neck. She rocked her hips to meet him, folding her legs around his and moaning so _deeply_. He had intended to keep her hands still, but she murmured something like _I want to touch you_ , so he let her. He moved his right hand down to her hip, adjusting the angle of her hips so that she moaned _just like that_ and her fingers shook as they caressed his cheek.

“Maker, Alistair –“

He could no longer manage languid. He slammed into her fast, hard, demanding, and her quiet mewls turned to sharp, gasping cries. His cock was dragging against that spot that made her chant _yes, Maker, more _,__ her fingers were pulling his hair and his grip on her hip was going to cause bruises. He covered her mouth with his, swallowing her cries, biting her lip. She kept her eyes open, and he loved it - loved watching them glaze over as he pushed her closer and closer to the edge, loved watching them roll up in her head as the both of them broke under an avalanche of pleasure.

She was close. She whimpered into his kiss, her cheeks aflame and her lips swollen. Alistair moved his hand from her hip to her clit, rubbing and seeking –

And then she was over the edge, coming _hard_ , her pussy clenching around him again and again and _again_. He fucked her through her climax, trying to time his thrusts, but soon he was gone as well, pumping his release into her and moaning her name like the Chant. They lay there for a while afterward, breathing hard, restless fingers stroking, bruised lips caressing. He shifted over to lie by her side and she tangled her legs with his, flinging one hand out to draw idle patterns on his sweaty chest.

“I, uh,” Alistair coughed. “I believe you mentioned something about finding success out here.”

She laughed gaily, and the stupid grin that tugged at Alistair’s lips was utterly beyond his control. “I did. But first I need to tell you again just how much I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied. The words might _seem_ uninspired, but for Alistair they were truer than any Chant and stronger than any oath. “And what was it you said about that specialty cheese?”


End file.
